


Going Home (Epilogue)

by flightlessons



Series: Flight Lessons [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Incest, M/M, Major Original Character(s), Novel, Polyamory, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-13
Updated: 2013-05-13
Packaged: 2017-12-11 18:55:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/802039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flightlessons/pseuds/flightlessons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The conclusion to a very long journey.</p><p>You can also read the series as it is published weekly on Tumblr here: <a href="http://spnflightlessons.tumblr.com/chapters-2">http://spnflightlessons.tumblr.com/chapters-2</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The End

Dean’s hand crept an inch higher on the inside of Sam’s thigh. But it didn’t help his case any. “I dunno, man,” his soulmate insisted. “ _Born to Run_ and _Joshua Tree_ were both way better albums. I mean, I like the Beatles, too, but best of all time? No way.”

Stopped at a red light on the way home from a drive in the countryside, Sam looked incredible with the sun filtering in from the Impala’s windows and playing off his face. They were arguing, sure, but it was the sort of argument that had no hard feelings attached. And while Dean certainly didn’t agree with Sam’s assessment, he secretly loved watching him make his point.

“Dude! Hell no. _Sgt. Pepper’s_ was absolutely the best album of all time. Not even just rock album. Best. Album. _Rolling Stone_ confirmed it. Man, it’s not even a contest. Neither of those made the top ten.”

“Since when do you buy into those lists?” Or read _Rolling Stone_ for that matter. “You always hate what they come up with—unless they accidentally agree with you!” he accused. “If _Joshua Tree_ isn’t in the top ten, then they’re crazy.”

He shrugged. “They wised up.”

In the distance, the light turned green, and Dean dropped it. He’d probably have a better chance getting Sam in the mood when they got home if he didn’t argue too strongly—though he was totally right—and he cared a whole lot more about that than music.

As they approached the highway intersection, a rusted-out Crown Victoria ran the light to their left. Some douchebag on his cellphone. It made it through, somehow, without a scratch. But it cut off a big rig—the driver of which slammed on his brakes.

Dean saw everything in slow motion. They were going fast enough, but it seemed like they weren’t even moving. The truck jackknifed. He couldn’t breathe. It wasn’t going to stay in its lane. Oh God, it was coming right at them.

He tried to swerve away from it. But it didn’t do any good. Sam reached over and gripped his shirt at the chest. In the last second, Dean looked over at him, saw the fear in his eyes. “Sammy, it’s—”

Boom.

The truck clipped the front left corner of their Chevy, spinning the vehicle around and then shoving it out of their lane and into a purple sedan. Whereupon, the Impala rolled, over and over. He couldn’t see. Glass flew and metal crumpled. It was deafening. He tried to press Sam into his seat. They both had their belts on, but he still worried his brother might go out the windshield if he didn’t hold him down. He thought he heard him scream his name, but maybe it was just the screeching of metal on asphalt.

When it finally came to a stop, the car was upside down. Surrounding it were piles of rebar and concrete blocks—the load that truck, now on its side, had been carrying. Dean groaned. He turned his head to see if Sam was all right, but to his horror, there was a twisted metal object sticking out of his shoulder, and he wasn’t moving.

“Sam? Sam?!” He touched his arm. “Sammy, talk to me. Sam!”

After a moment, he coughed. Opening his eyes slowly, “Dean?” he said in a quiet voice. It didn’t take long for him to notice the stake protruding from where his arm met his chest. It was lodged right in the joint, and it hurt like hell. He took hold of it and tried to pull it out, but it wouldn’t budge. “Fuck!” It was painful, but not life threatening—at least not for a healer. When help arrived, he told himself, they could pull it out, and then he’d surreptitiously fix the rest.

Sam tried to calm down. Blood was rushing to his head, but he didn’t dare undo his seatbelt. It was the only thing that kept the entire weight of his body from pressing down on the rebar. “Dean, are you okay?” it was difficult to move his head, and thinking wasn’t much easier.

He was dizzy. Nothing felt bad, but he couldn’t see. “Yeah, I’m fine. Are _you_?”

“I’ll be all right.” They could hear sirens already, and Sam’s body was naturally taking care of some of the damage. He tried to turn a little more. There was something—beyond his own pain—it was…

Something was very wrong.

His head felt clouded, and his ears rang, but he tried to push through it. Internal bleeding? Something about Dean’s stomach. He couldn’t turn to see. Could the steering wheel have hit his brother hard in the abdomen? It was an old car. No airbags. It could’ve cut into him. Maybe he wouldn’t even know yet.

Sam instinctively reached for Dean’s hand. Maybe he could sense it better if they were touching, and regardless, he wholly intended to fix whatever was wrong.

But all at once, he knew what it was. The reason he couldn’t sense it right away became abundantly clear. Dean’s injury was a lot like Sam’s. Another metal stick had shot through the windshield and skewered him. Sam forced himself to turn enough to see it as he began pumping healing energy into his other half.

It wasn’t even sticking out all that much. Just a hand’s length. Most of the rebar seemed to be lodged in the seat, but it had him pinned there. “Dean.” It took everything not to lose it. “Try not to move.”

“Why? What’s wrong?” He couldn’t feel anything. But they’d just been in a crash. Shouldn’t something hurt? But it didn’t. He just felt—numb.

Tears filled his eyes. “Your stomach. One of these things,” he smacked the object that jutted out of his shoulder for effect, “is—is—It’s gonna be okay, Dean. I’ve got you.”

What? No. It couldn’t be. He would know if a freakin’ piece of metal was—

But Dean trusted him more than anyone. He had no reason to lie. Terrified, he slowly reached up to his stomach and felt the rounded edges of something cold. “Shit.”

It was bad. In addition to the uncontrollable bleeding, his spine was damaged. Probably why he hadn’t complained of any pain. Along with, every organ in the vicinity was destroyed. If the bleeding and paralysis didn’t get him—and Sam could already feel him slipping—then he could easily die from sepsis and infection. “Try to stay with me, okay?” he begged, pumping the energy in as fast as it would go. He would leave the spine for last to try and spare him the pain.

He gritted his teeth. After a long pause to collect his thoughts, he closed his eyes. “You got enough juice for this, Sammy?”

Of course he did. If they could remove the rebar, surely he could heal his brother.

But he couldn’t pull it out or even try and drag Dean off of it. Not with his closest arm immobile. And just like when Cas got hit with a piece of glass, the metal would keep hurting him until it was outside his body. He could heal as much of the damage as possible, but with where the object was located? Dean would run out of time before help arrived. He at once knew it and refused to believe it. “You’re gonna be fine,” he lied.

“No, I’m not,” Dean breathed. He could feel the power at work, but he knew it wouldn’t be enough. An eerie coolness, separate from the healing, reached outward from the wound. It crept up his back, down his arms, and into his fingertips. He thought for sure this must be what dying slowly felt like.

It wasn’t so bad.

There was no pain at all. And he knew where he was going. He remembered Heaven and how wonderful it felt to be there. He knew his soulmate and his angel would join him there eventually. And they’d still be together.

If it was his time, he was ready to go. He always thought he would never be okay with it, but honestly? He had pretty much everything he ever wanted, and he would always have it. There wasn’t much left to accomplish. Dean was happy with how his life turned out it, and so grateful for the time he’d been given.

But Sam wasn’t willing to let him die. Not by a long shot. He would heal Dean until there was nothing left. He’d save him. He had to. It wasn’t even a question.

After awhile, Dean forced his hand away. “Hey, cut it out. You’re gonna hurt yourself doin’ that.”

“I have to heal you,” his voice strained. “You’re not gonna die, Dean.”

Sniffing, “Bound to happen eventually, Sammy.”

“Not yet! It doesn’t have to happen today!”

He let Sam’s hand go, but only so he could touch his cheek with the back of his own. He wished he could kiss him. Make him feel better. But pinned as they both were, there would be no way. That was the worst part, to Dean. It was a shame. A lump formed in his throat as he thought with remorse that the small, hurried peck he’d given Sam at a rural stop sign would be their last real one.

“I love you, Sammy,” he smiled a little.

Every part of Sam screamed in protest, but when he finally got words out, he found he could barely make them carry across the front compartment of their car. “No, don’t do this, Dean. Please. Stay with me, okay? I need you here.” Hot tears escaped his eyes and rolled down his forehead. “Don’t make me lose you again.”

“It’s okay, Sammy. You’re not gonna lose me, all right? Not really. It’s gonna be okay.” He took a long look at him before closing his eyes.

“No,” he pleaded, struggling against the metal and cloth that held him in place. The action sent pain through him and increased the bleeding. But he refused to heal himself with Dean about to die. Every ounce of energy he had left, he was going to put it toward trying to save him. “What about Cas? You gonna leave him here, too?”

His lip trembled. “You could—he’ll be all right. He’s stronger than we ever gave him credit for. And I’ll see both of you again, down the line. I swear. But if you—” He gulped. “If you make it out of this, Sammy, you take care of him, okay? You treat him right.”

He stopped short of adding “for me.” If Sam was going to stick it out with Cas here on Earth, he should do it because—well—because it was the right thing to do. Not as a favor. Not as anything but wanting to stay with their angel. Wanting to be with him and love him. Like he had all these years together.

A soothing calm swept across his mind, and Dean found it difficult to continue his line of thinking. More out of determination than panic, he fought through the haze to grasp at one final thought: that if Sam made it out of this crash alive, he and Cas’s relationship, despite all its pitfalls, was strong enough now to endure without him. He only wished he could check in every once in awhile to see it in action before they finally joined him again.

In the next moment, as Sam was still trying to form a reply, Dean’s whole body relaxed. The hand that touched Sam’s face dropped. He wasn’t dead. Not yet. Just unconscious from blood loss. But Sam was running out of energy. He could feel it start to ache, to tug on him. A telltale sign that he should stop.

But he couldn’t.

As much as Sam thought Cas deserved what Dean was asking, he knew he’d never be able to follow through. All the promises he made—he was simply too weak to keep them. He silently hoped that Cas would forgive him, eventually, for what he couldn’t help but do.

Feeling guilty but resolved, Sam kept healing. It didn’t accomplish anything. Before long, Dean slipped into a coma, and then was gone completely.

He didn’t stop, even with Dean’s death. Even with their bond breaking again and a hole forming in his chest where his soulmate used to be. Sam didn’t want any of the power to be left inside himself. So, he gave what little remained, and without hesitating more than a few seconds, he began to fumble with the latch to his seatbelt. “I’m sorry,” he said to both Dean and Cas, even though he was sure neither couldn’t hear it. “I’m so sorry.”

Clenching his jaw, he unlatched the belt. Though he tried to stay quiet, he screamed out in pain.

It was excruciating. His whole weight came down on the rebar, forcing it to dig deeper into him. And he moved in order to make it worse. He could bleed out, since there was no healing energy left. And that would be it.

Emergency workers arrived on the scene. One of them leaned in and said something about getting him some help, but he ignored it. No one could help him. He focused on the bleeding. On allowing it to continue. He forced his heart to beat faster, to pump more blood though the wound. And he prayed. For his heart to go out. For it all to be over. For Cas to forgive him and to understand.

God, it hurt. All he wanted was to be in Dean’s arms again. That’s where he belonged. It was cruel for them to be separated. Why couldn’t he just make himself die?

Firefighters were cutting the old muscle car apart by the time he started to get tunnel vision. He tried to stay awake as long as possible. Desperate, he sent another brief burst of energy into Dean’s body just to make sure there wouldn’t be anything left for himself if he passed out. Moments later, the world disappeared.

***

Rosa was finally beating Cas in chess—their third game in a row—when there was a knock on their front door. Hunters almost always used the back door, even in emergencies, since the front was so open and exposed. “Probably Jehovah’s Witnesses again,” she muttered with disdain. Getting up, she headed to the door and opened it without looking though the peephole.

Fuck.

It was a cop. A lanky African-American man in full street uniform. He seemed surprised to see the woman, and he tried to look past her into the house. “Umm, excuse me, miss,” he said eventually. “Is there a Lucas Daniels here?”

She immediately went on the defensive as Cas got up from the dining room table and crept close to the back door. There was a terrible feeling in his gut. He didn’t know what he would do if he had to run. But he refused to be arrested or even questioned again. Too much was at stake.

“What’s this about, officer?”

He took his hat off and pressed it against his chest. “It’s about, uh…” He pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket, read it quickly, and hid it away again. “Dean Jameson and Sam Walker.”

She shifted her weight. “They in some kind of trouble?”

His face changed. He grimaced, and his eyes got bigger. “No, ma’am. But there’s—there’s been an accident. Does Lucas Daniels live here? He’s listed as their-uh, their next of kin. For both of them.”

Lifting her hand to her mouth, Rosa quickly understood. “I’ll get him. Hold on.”

She backed away and ducked into the kitchen. When Cas saw her, he didn’t understand her expression. “What’s wrong?” he asked in a low voice.

“You should go speak to the police officer,” she said with her voice shaking. “I think the boys might be hurt.”

Suddenly, he knew what that bad feeling was. He’d had it once before. When Dean shot himself. He couldn’t make himself move toward the door. He couldn’t move at all. But he didn’t have to do it alone. Rosa threw one arm around him and walked him over to the cop.

The man looked more compassionate than she’d ever seen a member of a police force. “Lucas?” he asked. When the angel nodded, “Normally, we call, but I was—this was on my way home, anyway. Seemed like the right thing to do,” he muttered. “Sam and Dean were in a car accident. Another vehicle ran a red light. First responders were on the scene within six minutes.” Rosa got the impression that he was one of the officers sent to the crash.

Cas let out a sob. The witch pulled him a little closer. “Are they alive?” she asked bluntly. No reason to dance around it. Prolonging this conversation would only hurt Cas more.

“Dean was pronounced dead at the scene,” his tone was more robotic now, as though he were attempting to distance himself from the emotion. It seemed like he felt for them, regardless. “Sam was rushed to Hahnemann University Hospital, but he died of his injuries en route. I’m very sorry for your loss.”


	2. My City of Ruins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can also read the series as it is published weekly on Tumblr here: http://spnflightlessons.tumblr.com/chapters-2

Her mentor broke down. Crying unabated, he took hold of her and buried his face in her arm. Rosa gladly let him. He was in pain, and if weeping into her sweater helped, then she would offer it to him ten times over. It was the least she could do. She knew how close the three were, and had an idea of what Castiel had given up for them. She’d long since come to terms with it, and now considered all three to be her friends. If not family.

“Do you have a number we should call or something?” Rosa kept calm.

The officer nodded, pulling out his wallet. He handed over a card for a medical examiner, so they could see about retrieving the bodies for burial. After, he produced a second one. For a therapist. “She specializes in mourning. And she also happens to be my wife. If you need someone to talk to, just call the number on there.”

Rosa took both and tucked them into her pocket. “Thanks.” Following a pause as she thought everything over. “If you’ll excuse us.”

“Of course.” The cop took his leave of them, and Rosa shut the door. She walked the angel back into the dining room and sat him down at the table.

He buried his head in his arms and cried. What was he going to do without them? He always assumed he’d die before Sam would, at least. How on Earth did he manage to outlive the Winchesters? His body was weaker than theirs, and he wasn’t nearly as careful about its upkeep.

With a sigh, Rosa wandered over to a cabinet they’d allocated for her snacks. She used the top shelf for storage of herbs needed for spells. Selecting a plastic baggy filled with shavings of a dried root, she dumped the contents into a tea strainer. Moving to the oven, she turned it on before filling Cas’s teapot with water and setting it on the right, foremost burner.

“I don’t think tea’s gonna help,” he pointed out with a muffled voice.

“This tea will,” she said quietly, trying to decide how to explain the drink’s purpose. And attempting to convince herself that she was taking the right course of action.

He didn’t say anything for a long time. Then, he lifted his head. His face was red from crying. “What’s in it?”

“Aconitum.”

Sniffing, “Wolfsbane? I don’t need a sedative, Rosa, and I’m not a werewolf. The people I love are dead. It won’t help.”

“This type wouldn’t be good for either of those,” she said slowly. “It’s a poison.”

“A what?”

She straightened her posture and looked at him with complete seriousness. “A poison. If you drink the tea I plan to make for you, you’ll die.” And her teacher would be dead. Free to join the people he loved most in Heaven for all eternity. Leaving her completely on her own again. With no one.

“Who says I want to die?” Cas could hardly form a complete thought. Wasn’t he too devastated to know what he wanted? Especially about such an important—and permanent—decision. How could he make that call when he was still reeling? He wasn’t even sure he believed they were really dead.

When the tea kettle squealed to indicate its readiness, she took it off the burner and poured hot water over the deadly herb. She would let it steep for awhile before giving it to him.

As an afterthought, she rooted around in the cabinet where they kept medicines, and found an old prescription of Sam’s. The pills were designed to stop vomiting, and he once procured them in a fruitless attempt to combat the symptoms of overusing his healing power. If they wanted to do it right, employing this medicine would both keep the poison inside of him and ease his discomfort when it started working.

“That’s up to you,” she replied quietly. “I’m just trying to make it easier for you.”

“Why the hell would you do that?” Did she _want_ him to die?

“I’m trying to help you, okay?” Rosa didn’t mean to raise her voice, but it happened, nonetheless. Dialing it back, “Look, I don’t wanna see you in pain, any more than you probably wanna _be_ in pain. And you have guaranteed paradise with Sam and Dean, right? They’re probably there already, waiting for you. So, maybe I haven’t known you for very long, Castiel, but I think you deserve to be happy. And I have a hunch you probably won’t get to as long as you’re alone here. I mean, we can play board games all you want, but I don’t think I’d be a good substitute, you know?”

Along with some sugar, she carried the tea and pills over to him. He stared down at the items, unsure what to do.

In one respect, she was right. The Winchesters would surely be in Heaven already, having died at nearly the same time. Their spot in the Kingdom was assured, and Cas was promised a seat there, too. If he did this, he would be with them again in no time at all. And they could spend eternity together.

But he knew they probably wouldn’t want him to do it. Dean wouldn’t like any harm to come to him. And Sam would surely wish for him to finish school—he only had one semester left—and pursue his idea of doing social work. And they’d be there waiting for him after he’d done everything he wanted to do.

And yet, he found himself inherently impatient. What was the point of waiting? What was the point of suffering through a natural human lifespan? He’d planned for that life of service under the premise that he could come home to them every day. He could have both worlds. The loves of his life _and_ a career helping kids. As much as he still wanted to make a difference, the ache is his heart was already more than he thought he could bear. And part of Cas still thought the Winchesters would walk through that door and tell him it was all a ruse.

He could only imagine how bad it would get.

Living in this house without them. Sleeping in their giant bed alone. Avoiding the basement like it was cursed because it stood as the one part of the house that completely belonged to Dean. And worse, turning hunters away because the healer they relied on was dead, and they hadn’t got the memo.

Everything about this place would remind him of them. He could move, but where would he go? There wasn’t anywhere else he wanted to be. This was their home. Together, they’d built it up from just a house. They’d filled it with their pictures and memories and everything else they held dear. Oh God, how could he keep going without them?

He didn’t want to. And he didn’t think he was capable of it even if he tried.

Picking up the sugar, he poured a substantial amount into the tea. Rosa offered him a spoon to stir it, and he accepted it with a shaky hand. “They wouldn’t want me to do this,” he mumbled.

“I dunno about that. I think maybe they would want what you want.” She sat down next to him, opened the pill bottle, selected two—double the recommended dose—and placed them next to his mug. “Take those before you drink most of it. It’ll make things easier, I promise.”

He took up the pills in one hand, but didn’t move to swallow them. “What will you do?”

She shrugged. “I’ll take care of everything. Promise. Nice ceremony. Good piece of land to share.”

“And the house?”

Rosa looked around. “If it’s all right with you, I wouldn’t mind staying, at least for a little while. It’s a nice place, and—well—it kinda feels like home now.” She smiled in an attempt to avoid getting upset. “You three have been very kind to me. A helluva lot more than I deserve.”

Biting his lip indecisively, Cas kept his gaze on the liquid. “It’ll hurt a lot, right?”

She shook her head. “Doesn’t have to. There are enough drugs in this house to counteract all the symptoms.” Along with the ones for personal use, they kept extra medicines and supplies around to give to hunters when Sam couldn’t heal them. “If you’ll let me, I’ll make sure it’s as painless as possible. There’s no reason for you to suffer. I know Sam and Dean wouldn’t want that. And if you’d like, I’ll stay with you the whole time. I owe you that, at least.”

He’d taught her literally everything he could think of about angels and how to be one, and gave guidance on how to stay human, too. For that and more, she was indebted to him, and she’d even came to admire him. Crazy, considering they’d begun their friendship at odds with each other.

With a sad nod, he brought his hand to his lips and dumped the pills into his mouth. He picked up the mug and drank just enough of the concoction to swallow the medicine. It was bitter, even with all the sugar. Before setting the cup down, he took two more sips.

Rosa left him to it for a moment but returned soon after with a pen and paper. “I’m sure there’s people you wanna contact. If you write down their names and numbers, I’ll do it. I’ll call them for you.”

He took a long gulp, bringing the liquid down to the halfway point. He winced at the taste. It kind of burned a little in his stomach, and it irritated the back of his throat. He blinked. “I don’t—” He couldn’t think. Guilt at what he was doing and overwhelming loss were the only things he could focus on.

“How about Bobby Singer?” No one was closer to the three than him, herself included. Though, arguably, she was more of a friend to Castiel than the old man.

 _Oh._ How could he forget? “Yeah,” he answered weakly. She wrote down the name and passed the sheet over so he could add the number. He listed three. “Bobby has a lot of them, but I think those are the main ones. If a woman answers, that’s his wife Ellen. She’s, uh, she’s a nice lady.”

After some struggling, he thought of a second. His hand trembled as he wrote the name. “ _Lynn_.”  It took him a second to remember the number, but he scribbled it soon after. It’d been more than six months since he’d texted her, and even then, it was only to wish her a happy birthday. He couldn’t even remember the last time he heard her voice.

“Who’s that?”

“My sister.” When she looked perplexed, “You and I are a lot alike, in a way. I had a human life for awhile, and during that time, I had a human sister. Lynn. She won’t know what happened to me if nobody tells her. But, umm, she doesn’t know about what I am or anything—so, just the basics?”

She rested her hand on his shoulder. “You got it. Anyone else?”

It took some thought, but he listed his friend Randall from college, with instruction to just say that he’d passed. The man would undoubtedly guess why, once the news about Dean and Sam spread, and then he’d tell the other students. Then, Cas added the login information for their scheduler. “Can you please email the hunters? They’re gonna keep coming, thinking they can get help here. There’s an option to email all of them.” He took another drink. And then another.

Rosa tried to smile, but failed. He was so concerned about other people, even ones he barely knew. As much as she’d learned to be a better person while living with the trio, she couldn’t imagine that level of compassion. He was dying. His partners were dead. And he cared about whether or not some battle-hardened killers didn’t waste a trip to get their broken bones healed faster. At once, she thought it a shame that the world would lose him. That she would lose him. “I’ll do it all today, if I can.”

“Thanks.” He finished the tea and set the mug down. His fingers lingered on the outside of it, soaking in the residual warmth. “Will this be enough?”

She offered one slow nod. “I steeped it for awhile. Half would probably have been fine. I can give you more, if you want, but the symptoms may be worse for the same effect.”

“I believe you.” He began to feel it almost immediately. The nausea started first. Though he couldn’t vomit, he certainly felt like he needed to. Rosa walked him up to the den and instructed him to lie down on the couch. She left and returned, her arms laden with medicine bottles. Of the dozen or so, she selected three. A powerful painkiller, which she administered the moment the cramping started. A sedative to keep him from panicking. And some pink liquid to calm his stomach further.

At the one-hour mark, he was shivering and pale. She covered him in a blanket. When that didn’t seem to help, she took a seat and pulled him into her lap. His skin was cold and clammy. “It’ll be over soon,” she assured him in as caring of a tone as she could muster. It wasn’t her forte, but the situation called for extra effort on her part. “You’re gonna be so happy to be with them again. And I bet—I bet their faces will just light up when they see you.”

He let his head rest on her thigh, staring blankly at the empty TV screen. “We had such an amazing thing here,” he said morosely. “This life. It was—” He paused to wait for his stomach to stop turning. “It was as close to perfect as anyone could ask for, you know? Even the little things.” Like staying up late to watch bad television on this same couch. “We just—we had so much we were still gonna do.” He began crying again. “I was gonna finish school. Dean, he-uh, he was so excited about the trip to China next month. You shoulda seen him looking at all the touristy places online. He wanted to go to the mountains. And Sam was doing what he loved. Helping people. Every day.”

On top of that, he had Christmas gifts for them picked out. He’d already bought a set of power tools for Dean. And Sam was going to get a dog. He’d always wanted one. And Cas knew for a fact that the local no-kill shelter had three or four good candidates waiting to be adopted.

They’d never receive his presents, and he’d never get a chance to witness the excitement his gifts would certainly cause. Their last Christmas would be it, just like everything else. “It’s all been taken from us.”

He never realized how jarring dying could be, despite coming close a few times before. Cas had once imagined he would simply go peacefully, especially since he’d been granted passage into Heaven.

Maybe it was because he had so much time to think about it.

As he lay there, losing hold of his body, he found himself clinging to this world and the life he adored. And he mourned, not just for the loss of his own life, but for his humans and what they had. It wasn’t fair to them. Would they be content with paradise? He wasn’t sure. And they wouldn’t get a choice.

She ran her fingers through his hair. “Shh. Come on. Don’t look at it like that. Sure, there are things you won’t get a chance to do, but that’s how life goes. Everybody wishes they had more time, either their own or with others. But think about it this way. It _was_ perfect. Heaven on Earth. For a whole bunch of years. That’s more than most people get to say when they come to this point. And you’re going to enjoy that same kind of bliss forever without fear of anything going wrong or losing Dean and Sam again. They’ll always be there, with you. And they’ll always have you.”

Cas gripped her knee as a stabbing pain cut through his drug-induced haze. He shut his eyes and tried to breathe normally. Sweat beaded on his forehead. His skin tingled. “I miss them so much already.”

“It won’t be long now. Just picture all the fun you’re gonna have.”

“They might try to, uh—” It was so hard to concentrate. “—to pin this on you.”

There was that compassion again.

It had already occurred to her that the angel’s death would probably result in a brief police investigation. But she had two or three different routes to take in terms of lying her way out of it. The likeliest avenue would be to leave the house after he passed—citing that Cas asked to be alone—go to the store for awhile, and then return, only to “find” him dead and then call the police. She could explain how distraught he was, that another cop had even seen it. She had his wife’s card. Maybe Rosa would imply that Cas and Dean were dating for years. She could lie about the amount of time she was gone.

And the death by herbs? _What herbs?_ Oh, they kept all sorts of holistic remedies for the business that she knew _nothing_ about! She was just there to learn meditation and clean up after them.

And in this case, she actually would clean—anything that might seem out of place. All the weapons, any trace of hunters, all her magic stuff. There were secret compartments throughout the house, and she would utilize every single one if she had to.

“Don’t worry about that. If I have to take off, I will. But I’m thinking that if I play the ‘scared little girl’ card and wipe down all my prints, it should be fine.”

“We’re supposed to take care of you…”

Rosa had to labor to keep from getting upset. “You did.” She patted him on the head. If he was worried that her biological father would go back on his promise to let Cas into Heaven, Rosa doubted there was much reason for it. They’d opened their home and their lives to her. She was abrasive and cruel to them at first, but they allowed her to stay, nevertheless. And she wholeheartedly believed that they didn’t do it just because she could help protect them, or later because her archangel daddy insisted they had to.

They did it because she needed it. The shelter, the responsibility, the education—the family. She would miss them. Genuinely. Deeply. More than she’d admit out in the open. But acknowledging that they were happy and with each other would help, she thought. How could she mourn for long, knowing they would have peace and paradise together?

She’d probably do it, anyway. Fuck, she didn’t want to go back to being alone.“I’ll be fine. I promise,” she said in a confident tone as his breathing slowed. “You made sure of it.”

He looked up with eyelids that barely opened. A few seconds later, they closed again.

“Goodbye, Castiel,” was the last thing he heard.


	3. Forever Young

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can also read the series as it is published weekly on Tumblr here: http://spnflightlessons.tumblr.com/chapters-2

Dean sat on the hood of his car, staring off toward the Rockies. They cut into the skyline and seemed to stretch out forever before him. His eyes followed the white peaks and the dips and rises. They really were stunning. Kansas was so flat, as was much of the Midwest. Whenever he got a chance to see something drastically different, it absolutely fascinated him.

At least at this stage in his life.

Though the duo had stopped to look at these mountains on more than one occasion, Dean remembered this trip from when they were still teenagers. Their dad had left him and Sam to their own devices for a few days, during Spring Break. Sam was, what, thirteen? Which meant he was seventeen. Normally, by then, Dean would take off and shack up with some girl or just drink himself stupid. But not this time.

John generally tried to time his solo hunts while they were in school, so at least they were being watched during the day. Thus, he was typically around for the short breaks. And during the summer, he would either bring them along or try to find somebody—like Bobby—to keep an eye on them. But circumstances sent him away right as their break began.

Dean didn’t have the heart to leave Sam alone, and he didn’t have any good prospects, either.

After a day or so of kicking around their motel room, Dean suggested that they go on a little road trip. It was one of the first times he was allowed to have the Impala without his father around, and he wholly intended to take advantage of it.

So, they drove halfway across the state to see the mountains. When they got there, he just parked the car, and they watched.

“You’re sure?” he remembered Sam asking, holding up a can of beer. “Dad’ll kill you if he finds out.”

“He’s not gonna find out, because we’re not gonna tell him,” Dean’d insisted, “and you probably won’t even finish it!”

“Do I get a second one if I do?” he grinned.

Scoffing, “No!” The last thing he needed was to try and explain why his brother puked in the car.

Sam wasn’t a kid anymore, though, and that was just a memory. The real, adult Sam— _his_ Sam—got out of the car and paced to his side. He handed Dean a beer. The same brand from that day. Looking absolutely wonderful, he glanced at the mountains for a little while and then smiled. “I remember this,” he said with an enchanted tone. “We just took off. You and me. We didn’t get back until like four in the morning.”

“You were out for most of the return trip.”

He nodded, slurping. “I think this is one of my favorite memories from being a teenager, actually.”

Really? This one was clearly drawing from Dean’s past, not his. He honestly didn’t think Sam even remembered it. “I wouldn’t have figured that.”

Sam kissed him just above his eye. “You just seemed so happy. For like the whole day. It was great.”

“Huh.”

He stepped in front of him and leaned down. “I mean, yeah. Are you surprised? We were different people then. Getting you to smile for more than a few seconds wasn’t that easy. But this day? It was like you couldn’t stop, Dean. The mountains, the drive, the diner we stopped at on the road. I just—I really liked seeing you that way. I still do. Of course, now—” He looked down before making eye contact again. “—it’s a lot easier.”

Sam moved in closer, pushing Dean’s knees apart and advancing until his own legs hit the car’s bumper. His fingers found their way to Dean’s hips. Pulling him a few inches toward the end of the vehicle, “But I‘m still not used to seeing it.”

Not to disappoint, Dean smiled. “Do you think you—you’re ever gonna be? Used to it, I mean.”

“I hope not!” He kissed him deeply. “It’s a surprise every time, and I love it. No matter how often me or Cas or anybody else makes it happen. Or how much we relive it.”

Though he meant only positive things by what he said, Sam inadvertently caused them both a pang of sorrow at the mention of their angel’s name. He silently cursed himself for being so stupid. He’d managed to go the whole time through their first Heavenly experience—a memory of Sam’s from when they’d caught a movie together and got a little hot and heavy in the back row—without mentioning him. But now, once they were in Dean’s, he had to bring it up, didn’t he? 

“Fuck, I’m sorry.”

Dean shook his head. “For what? For talking about Cas? Dude, I’d worry if you didn’t.”

“You’re not upset?”

“I miss him, if that’s what you mean. I’m worried about him. You know, I can’t make sure he’s okay from here.” Dean sounded so candid. Maybe being dead helped him kick some of his lingering trepidation to the curb. After all, what was the point? “I’d be a fucking mess if we were never gonna see him again. But I’m not gonna ignore his whole existence just to try and feel better. I don’t think I could do that, dude. Not about him. Not about Cas.”

He reached behind Dean’s neck and caressed him with his thumb. “I miss him, too. I hope he’s—”

But before he could finish the sentence, something about the memory changed. Sam couldn’t put his finger on it, but it was like everything was just a little brighter. Sharper. Deeper and more colorful. He looked into Dean’s eyes and saw every miniscule speck in the deep green irises. He swore he could count every freckle or hair on his head if he wanted to. Letting go of him, he took a step back.

And his jaw dropped open.

Dean couldn’t help but be alarmed. “Sammy? What’s wrong?” His soulmate looked absolutely terrified. He noticed the weird change, too, but they’d only been dead for part of a day as far as he could tell. Maybe it took some time before they got the high-definition version of Heaven. Whatever the reason, he didn’t think it was worthy of a freak out.

“Y-you,” he gulped. “The-uh—Dean, your wings!”

He tilted his head to one side. “What about them? They’re still—wait. You’re not seeing them right now, are you?”

When he nodded emphatically, Dean spun around and looked at himself in the Impala’s reflection. He moved his mouth but found he couldn’t speak. There they were. Black. Almost a shadow. Half see-through. But as he flexed them, white light lit up the edges and flowed across, revealing a complicated system of feather-like patches of dark energy. He’d imagined something closer to a hawk’s. Brown and tan. Normal. Just invisible. But this made more sense. Cas had always said it was energy. This definitely looked like energy.

He’d felt the wings and moved them for years. But he’d never seen them before. Never had any idea that this was what he carried around. The same was true for Sam. Both were absolutely astounded at the sight before them.

But just as his wings appeared, the whole world flickered, and they were gone. “What the hell?” Dean could still feel them attached, thankfully, but why would they get a peek, only to have it taken away?

Sam didn’t understand it, either.

It took a little while to pry his eyes away, but eventually, Dean opened the car’s back door and pulled out another beer from their cooler. By the time he closed it again, Sam was staring in surprise at something completely different.

Perched on the back of the vehicle was Cas. He sat motionless, wearing the old tan coat Sam’d bought him when they first met. It looked brand new. Staring down at his hands, he seemed oblivious to where he was or who stood nearby.

“Cas?” Dean finally got out. “Cas, are you here? Is that you?” This memory was from before they ever met him, but since things seemed to be a little broken, could it be that two were combining somehow? He didn’t want to get his hopes up that it was really Cas, and not just a heavenly hologram.

The angel tilted his head as though he heard, but then he shook it and went back to looking at his hands.

Dean marched over to him. “Cas? Hey, Cas. Dude, say something.” When he still didn’t look up, “Cas, it’s me.” He lifted the angel’s chin so he had to look at him as Sam rushed to his side. “You’re in Heaven. You’re with us.”

At first, there was nothing but blankness in his eyes. Then, a little of himself returned. His gaze moved wildly over them. Dean first, then Sam. His fingers gripped the edge of the car. He let out a breath. “None of this is real,” he mumbled. “I can’t be here. I’m not allowed to be here.”

Sam blinked in disbelief. “No, Cas. It’s okay. You belong here. You’re here in Heaven, like we planned. Remember?” He felt sadness creep in as he realized that if Cas was here, that meant something had happened to him. He was dead, too. Trying not to cry, Sam gripped Cas’s arm.

Dean followed his example and cupped the angel’s face in both hands. “Look at me. I know you’re confused. And maybe this doesn’t work the same for you. But just—just try and look at me. Okay, man? Try to focus.”

It took a long time, but eventually, more and more of himself returned. He seemed to stabilize, and so did the world around them. The mountains went back to exactly how Dean remembered them, and Sam found he couldn’t concentrate on tiny details like he had minutes before. Sam suspected that perhaps Cas did have some control here, too, albeit not as perfectly as the soulmates did. He couldn’t think of a better explanation.

At last, he broke through the fog. “Dean? Sam?!”

The older Winchester was so relieved, he practically tackled him. The hug he gave Cas was strong and perfect, and he didn’t want to let him go. “Damnit, dude, it’s good to see you.”

Sam watched on, overcome with emotion. He wanted to say how glad he was to see him, too. But a nagging voice in his head had to know. “Cas, uh, what happened?”

Dean looked back at him. “Huh?”

“If you’re here, then—then something happened to you.” He bit into the tip of his thumb to keep from talking further. He wasn’t sure he could handle saying this much, let alone an answer. God, did he really wanna know?

Cas couldn’t remember at first. Sam was right, of course. He had to be dead to be in Heaven. He couldn’t get there any other way. He had to die a human death, and then he could go just one place. The spot already reserved for the Winchesters. But how did it happen? Something about Rosa—something about feeling sick. His stomach. Curled up in her lap on the couch. Dizzy. Piece by piece, the information returned, until he had the whole thing.

They wouldn’t like the answer, he warned himself. But they would like honesty. They always liked honesty.

“I, umm, I did it.”

“What? Aww, Cas,” was all Dean could say. He couldn’t really be surprised. He had a bad feeling this might happen. But he’d hoped Cas would tough it out for just a little while. Just so he could focus on himself for a change.

Sam couldn’t exactly judge him, either. He’d lasted only a few minutes without Dean this time, and barely skated by with the first—but, even then, it was only with Cas’s direct intervention. But he couldn’t control his curiosity. “How?”

Dean let go of Cas to face his brother. “Sammy, c’mon.”

But the angel had no intention of keeping secrets from them. “I got some herbs from Rosa and made tea.” More like, Rosa made it and did all the work for him. But he wanted to take responsibility, regardless.

If Dean had to speculate about how the guy might’ve done it, he would’ve guessed something like that. Quick and efficient. Not messy. Almost peaceful. But it was still more than he wanted to know. The thought of Cas dying—even though it meant he would be with them—still sent a rush of terror through him. He hugged him again. “It doesn’t matter,” he whispered. “You’re here now. It doesn’t really matter.”

Cas looked over at Sam. “How’d _you_ do it?”

“What?” Dean pulled away enough to look at him. “Sam didn’t. The accident—”

The angel didn’t take his eyes off of the younger Winchester. “Even a really bad car accident shouldn’t be fatal for a healer. And it wasn’t, right? You were in an ambulance.”

Sam nodded, to Dean’s dismay. “I couldn’t save you, Dean. I put all of my energy into it, and you still died. You slipped away from me. So, I tried to—to make the damage worse. I wanted to die right there. Next to you. But that didn’t work, either. So, they got me out, and as they were trying to fix me, I-I—I dunno how I did it, but—I made my heart stop. I just made it stop beating.”

Dean groaned. He fell to a crouching position on the ground and covered his eyes with both hands. Though there were no headaches in paradise, he still felt like he was about to get one. “God damnit, Sammy. You couldn’t hold on at all?”

“No! Did you really think I could? I’m weak, Dean. I can’t do it without you. With you gone, I’m nothing.”

“That’s not true,” his soulmate retorted weakly, as much to convince himself as to try and make the others believe it was true.

“Well, it feels like it.” Turning to the angel, “And I betrayed you. Again. I know I promised I wouldn’t do it, but I-I couldn’t help myself,” he cried. “I’m sorry, Cas. I swear I couldn’t help it! I’m so sorry.”

Standing again, “You didn’t even try,” Dean murmured. He kicked up dust and dirt out of frustration.

But a light smile from Cas brought the whole thing to a screeching halt. “Sam, it’s all right. I’m not upset, and I don’t blame you.” He slid off of the car, walked up to him, and wrapped his arms around the man’s shoulders.

“I blame me,” he said barely loud enough to hear.

Cas shook his head. He looked up at him with confidence and sympathy in his expression. “Cut it out. I love you. Both of you. More than anything else. And I don’t care what you did to get here. I’m just happy that I’m with you, that we get to be together.” In fact, he was ecstatic. Despite everything they left behind. Despite all of it. As the realization set in—that he would be with them forever in their Heaven—he couldn’t be happier. It was everything he wanted.

He had no interest in guilting Sam about giving up. He’d done the same thing. It wasn’t like last time, when Dean’d promised he would return. Sam knew he wasn’t coming back, and he had to watch him die, unable to help. Cas could only imagine how painful that was for him. Just finding out they were dead had hurt him enough.

“But I _promised_ you.”

Cas shrugged. “I know. And maybe things could’ve been different. But, sweetheart, I don’t really care,” he insisted. Moving in for a kiss, he had to go up on his toes to reach him. But when he did, it was a long time before he let go. Smirking, “Just don’t let it happen again, all right?”

Sam couldn’t help but let out a single small laugh, though it was laced with a lingering sadness. “Don’t think we have to worry about that.” The Winchesters had more lives than a sack full of cats, but it certainly seemed like they were here to stay.

“Exactly.”

After wrestling with himself for a few more moments, the healer was content to drop it. He still felt guilty, but if Cas wanted to forgive him, then he’d gladly accept that. He didn’t want Cas to hate him. And as they were now—with him nestled in Sam’s arms—all he wanted was to be close to him. He kissed him back, craning his neck down to reach him. “I love you.”

The angel squeezed him tightly. “You say that like I won’t believe it. I love you, too, Sam. And I always will.”

He felt like he could melt.

Dean kept his distance. He didn’t like that both of his partners had hurt themselves. He didn’t like it at all. He never wanted any harm to come to them, and he couldn’t shake the idea that he was directly responsible for it. He let them be so dependent. He kinda liked it when they were. But this was what happened. Without him, they didn’t feel like they could keep going. They lost themselves. He never wanted that. He could’ve waited for them. They could’ve lived the rest of their lives.

Cas seemed to sense his inner turmoil.

More than that. He _heard_ it. The rules in Heaven were a little different. If Dean thought something loud enough, Cas had no choice but to listen.

Disconnecting from the healer, he swiveled toward Dean. “Uh, actually, it’s not dependency. I mean, we have that, too, but you should know: I wouldn’t be happy without the two of you. I wouldn’t. It’s not even a question.” He reached for Dean’s waist and touched him there softly. “If it helps, the pain was little more than a bad stomach flu for me. I don’t consider that harm. I consider it coming to see you, to spend eternity with you, and share in your memories.”

But it was! It absolutely was harmful. Checking out wasn’t the answer. Not this time. It didn’t solve anything, Dean argued silently. Sure, they were together, but they would get to be, eventually. Just because it was easy didn’t mean it was the right thing to do. When he’d done it, it was the most difficult decision he ever had to make. But for his partners? It seemed like they barely even thought it through. They just reacted.

Maybe that was why Cas was so quick to forgive Sam. They realized now how much they had in common. In a way, they were equals. But all of it was in contrast to everything the older human once stood for. Sure, he spent a lot of time thinking about this place and trying to secure Cas’s chances at coming here, and sure, he’d taken his own life so he could have a chat with Gabriel. But being alive together was what he valued more.

Hell, the creators of Heaven were probably in agreement. Why else would paradise simply be where you get to relive all your best memories from when you were alive? If living wasn’t that important, then the afterlife would just be a free-for-all where the dead got whatever they wanted.

Before Dean could retort or even ask Cas to stop reading his damn thoughts, Sam chimed in. “Stop me if I’m wrong, but—maybe it’s not just our memories.” He ran his fingers over the stubble on Cas’s face. “There’s something _different_ about this place since you arrived. And, uh, for a little while, I think we saw things the way you see things. The extra way you could, as an angel.”

He looked around. “No, that’s not possible. I’m not allowed to have any control here.”

But in the next instant, he _moved_ it. All of it. With a thought. The scene lit up in bright light. He chose the first thing that came to mind and was treated to the scene, populated around them in beautiful color and detail.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean exclaimed. The Rockies were switched out for skinny, ancient mountains that jutted up into the sky before them. All around were trees and streams. There was a river in the distance. He could smell it. And the sounds of people working in the afternoon sun. A faint smell of cooked vegetables came through on the wind, mixing with the fresh air. It was incredible.

Cas beamed as he watched Dean take it in. “We didn’t, umm, we didn’t get to go on that trip to China like you wanted. But if I can access all of my memories, then we still can.”

His lips moved before he could bring himself to speak. “Cas, it’s—wow. I can’t believe this.”

“We can go anywhere,” Sam guessed.

He nodded. “I have thousands and thousands of years. Not all of it is good, but I could certainly share—whenever you want. If you would like to explore instead of remember, I can give that to you. And it’s not just a matter of where, Sam. It’s also when.”

“So, like, the Middle Ages? We could hang out with knights? Or dinosaurs?!” Dean couldn’t hide his excitement. He wanted to focus on the more serious matters at hand, but part of him just wanted to be happy. Maybe he could let himself be happy.

He chuckled. “I would hazard against that. They weren’t quite as cool as in the movies, unfortunately. But yeah.”

“Cas, that’s awesome.” Dean’s mind filled up with the possibilities. India. New Orleans. The height of empires. The bustle of cities. Endless forests. They would finally get to explore the world together. Like one long road trip. No planes and the fear associated with them. No packing. Just the three of them and their best memories and everything they could think of doing together. Forever.

And they could go home whenever they wanted. Back to their house. Maybe it wasn’t the physical place, but neither was the feeling, right? Home was the three of them in one place.

He couldn’t think of a better Heaven than that.

Overwhelmed, he grabbed Cas and kissed him passionately. It felt good to touch him again. Sam took hold of them both, and they folded him in.

With a hand on each of the humans, Cas turned his attention to the mountains. “How about a walk?” he asked tentatively. “They look wonderful at a distance, but they’re amazing close up. I promise. You won’t get tired, and the view is amazing.”

Dean glanced over at Sam for confirmation. When he had it, he grinned. “Dude, yes. Lead the way.”


End file.
